The Little Clock Girl
by Mr. Ree and Mr. Meenor
Summary: Based off of Hans Christian Anderson's tale, "The Little Match Girl", Miranda tries to please her step-mother to sell pocket watches in a world where cellphones are the new time-tellers on Christmas Eve. AU for both stories, Christmas-Theme.  Joy.


So, I was reading this story by Hans Christian Anderson, right? And I thought loudly to myself, "Why not make this a further in-depth fic?" And then there was light—I mean, a fic! Hello, Mr. Ree here, bringing you a Christmas story called 'The Little Clock Girl', based off 'The Little Match Girl'! It's a Miranda fic (shock), AU (shocker), and she's little (OH GOD WOW I NEVER SAW THAT COMING FROM THE TITLE OR ANYTHING!). Thank you for reading, and I do hope you enjoy! (Also, Happy Chanukah—yesterday was the Festival of Lights!)

Disclaimer: D. Gray-Man is the property of Katsura Hoshino and Funimation. This series is a parody and nothing more, so please support the official release. Got it? Damn well better.

~O~

The Little Clock Girl

"Miranda! Miranda, are you slouching again? Stand up straight!"

The girl stares at this woman that calls herself her mother, but she knows otherwise. Her real mother, her lovely, kind mother, died a few years ago. She stares right through the woman and nods. "Yes, mama," she says quietly, then straightens herself out. The dress clings to her legs and makes them itch, but she doesn't dare to scratch them. If she touches them, the woman would slap her, call her names, and do things her real mother would never do.

She watches the woman pace in front of her; the way her heels click on the floor makes her wince. Everything is too loud to her ears these days. She keeps saying she has some sort of ear infection, but the woman never believes her. No one believes her. No one.

The woman pauses, then grabs the girl by the collar of the shirt. _Don't cry, _she tells herself. _Don't cry. If you show weakness, it's all over. _

"You're the reason why we're in this mess!" she yells, shaking the girl. "You're the problem, not me, not your father! What little wench had the nerve to give birth to you, you worthless thing? Get out of here and make us some money, would you? Maybe then you would have a use!"

She rummages through a drawer, filled to the brim with pocket watches, and shoves the shelf at the girl, scattering the watches. "Pick those up," she says, "and go make us money. You're the reason we're in debt anyways."

"But," she starts, but the woman glares.

"No buts. Hurry up and get going!"

"Yes, ma'am."

She picks up the watches and puts them in the small shelf before she starts to reach her shoes. The woman laughs bitterly as she takes them away from her. "Little girls who are no good don't deserve perfectly good shoes," she says. "Go outside without them!"

She nods, then hurries outside without the shoes. All she possess is a scarf and a small coat she had on before when they went to church. The city streets are clogged with people, window-shopping and gawking at the latest gadgets—Nintendo DS XL's, Playstation 3's, cellphones—as she wanders past them. The sky is mucked with dark clouds, lit only by excessive Christmas lights and street lamps. Snow begins to fall as she crosses the street. No one pays attention to her as she calls out to sell the watches in the shelf. They all are gawking at the windows.

Cold winds bluster up, so much so that she winces against the wind, pushing through as someone walking briskly knocks her over. The watches scatter yet again, this time on the cold sidewalk. Most are stepped on by people, all of which are absorbed in their own schedules as once or twice her fingers are stepped on. Freezing and tired, she manages to grab the last watch, then continues to walk down the technologically-busy street.

"Pocket watches!" she yells, but no one listens.

The wind picks up again, far worse this time, as she walks between two buildings for shelter. The snow clings to her hair as she stares at the watches, admiring their own beauty. Her father collected the watches over the course of thirty years. He stopped after the recession began, when the housing market collapsed and the unemployment skyrocketed. Her father got laid off, as did the woman, and they were forced to move into an apartment. Since then, the woman always hit her, always always.

She picks up one pf the pocket watches and frowns. It didn't even work, the stupid thing. She shakes it a little, then shakes it a lot before something clicks and ticks in her hands. She pauses, then glances at the watch. It ticks beautifully, the noise small yet perfect. She sits down and sets aside the shelf, the other pocket watches neglected as she hugs herself. She glances up at the sky. _Some Christmas,_ she thinks. _I got pushed outside like a useless little wench that I am. When did it all go wrong?_

_Why am I so... useless?_

The clock in her hands stops ticking, so she shakes it again to get it going. It starts ticking once more as she stares at the opposite wall, an image appearing before her. She rubs her eyes as a large feast unfolds before her, people surrounding the table. Pork roast and turkey sit closest to her as her stomach rumbles. Someone looks at her and smiles. He has pretty white hair and gray eyes, though he is a tad short in stature. "You look hungry, Miranda," he says quietly. "Would you like to eat something?"

A redhead appears from behind him, beaming a grin. "Hey, gimme some of that food, too, you know? I'm starving. Hey, hey, Yuu-chan! Hurry up and move already from the noodles! We're hungry too, you know?"

"Che." She doesn't see where the voice is coming from, but it's still there. "Idiots like you don't deserve any food."

"That's not nice, Kanda!" An Asian girl appears and knocks someone behind the white-haired boy with a clipboard. She seems feisty. "Be nicer!"

"Anyways," the boy says, "why don't you hurry up and get something you like, Miranda? How about a pear?"

The vision stops as the clock stops ticking, her hands outstretched for the pear coming back empty. She feels tears in her eyes as she shivers violently, shaking the pocket watch again to get it to work. The ticking continues, a little slower this time, as another image covers the bland gray wall before her. A tree, covered in lights, tinsel and ornaments, lies before her as a tall man stumbles around it, looking lost. He frowns a little as he feels around him. She blinks. _Oh. He's blind._

"Would you like some help?" a voice asks. She watches as a woman—how pretty she is!—appears before her, with shoulder-length wavy hair and tired-looking eyes. She seems happy, however, and that is the important thing. The man shakes his head.

"No, I've got it," he replies. "Why don't you check to see if the food is done yet, Miranda?"

Her eyes widen as she realizes that the woman before her is herself, only older. She turns and looks at the little girl, smiling slightly as the blind man hugs her. Something lonely pierces her heart as the image fades again, the wall coming back into view. She whimpers as her shivers turn to bone-wracking shudders, her little body curling up into a ball. She shakes the stopped pocket watch once more, not wanting to feel lonely anymore. It doesn't work at first.

"Come on," she whispers. "Please, please work. Please work."

The pocket watch, with another good shake, starts ticking again. Another image appears before her as the ticks start to slow. She shakes it again as the image gets brighter, a portrait of her wonderful mother lying before her. She stares, eyes wide, as her mother smiles.

"Mother," she breathes, snow batting at her eyelashes. "Mother, why did you leave me? My new mother beats me all the time and keeps saying I'm useless. Mother, that's not true, is it? It isn't, is it?"

Her mother shakes her head as she extends a hand to little Miranda, saying words only the girl could hear. She stares at the hand, confused. "Are you saying it's warm where you are? Is there food, too? I'm hungry and cold... Please tell me there's food..."

Her mother nods.

"Really?" Miranda smiles a little, eyes brimming with tears. "Then, take me with you, mother! Take me with you!"

The ticking of the clock stopped.

Morning rises as a postman, doing his daily rounds, comes across a body lying in the snow. He brushes some off to see the little girl with pale, blue lips and a pocket watch in her hands. On her face is a smile, though, for she knew she was to be reunited with her mother once again.

The clock holds the time of "12:00 25 December" for forever, and until eternity.

~O~

Well, that was only slightly depressing. Anywho! So! Did you like it? Hate it? Love it? Destroy it? Hit me with a review, por favor! And have a good Christmas while you are at it, too! Also, if you happen to see someone like the little clock girl, help them out, do not just ignore them. That's the worst thing you can do. I hope you enjoyed this fic, and I hope to see you soon! —Mr. Ree


End file.
